Dear Rangge
by CantarellaLove
Summary: Based on Lover Rangge


**__A/N: I hope I did a good job. Please tell me what you think  
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__**Disclamer: I don not own Vocaloid, the song, or the English lyrics sang in here.**  
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><p><em><em>Dear Rangge...<em>_

The pen falls to the floor, an innocent clang resounds. Why? Why? Why? I scream over and over in my head. Why couldn't you be here with me? My heart cries out for it's other half. My hand yearns for yours. I cry as I think of how stupid I was. When I was young, I hated you. I hated the way our voices would fuse together when we spoke. I hated your hair and your eyes; every single aspect of me that was you. I hated how you would follow me around everywhere and ask stupid questions. I hated your smile… God, I hated how even though things were bad you would always have that stupid grin on your face. I hated those lies. You would always look me in the eyes, hold both my hands, show me that stupid grin, and say over and over again that every thing was okay. No matter how much your lungs burned, no matter how much it hurt to move, no matter how much you wished that the pain would end. Maybe if you had just stopped lying you would be here instead of me.

The scientist would always marvel at us. The fact that they had done it. The fact that they had created two perfectly identical girls. You were always the good one. Always doing what every one wanted. Never showing the scars or pains behind your eyes. Only I could see them. I could see the tears you never allowed to spill. For a while we did fine. We had a few problems, such as colds, but nothing life threatening. But then you got extremely sick. After a few weeks, I got sick. That was the day the scientist realized something. As soon as you got better, I grew sick.

We grew worse, constantly in and out of bed. Musical chairs, people called it. I would yell at them when they would say that. Musical chairs was a children's game, something that brought joy to young children. This was no game. Yet they would still laugh. They laughed at my anger. I remember clearly that day the laughter had driven me mad. You walked into my room like you usually did, even though I never visited you when you were sick, and I snapped on you. "I want you gone!" I screamed at you. You didn't run away or cry. All you did was smile. That same smile I had grown sick of.

Two years repeated like that. The "game", as the scientist began calling it, repeated over and over, that was until we both became sick. On the night of out birthday, it looked like everything was fine. We were both healthy and I even smiled, but then we both grew violently ill. Every day the scientist would rush about wondering how long we would live. You still smiled, repeating that phrase over and over like a mantra. You held my hand, as you lay helpless in the bed next to mine. I never pulled away from your grasp, instead turning my attention to the outside window. I could see everything. The empty train tracks. The gazelle that followed the tracks, and I swear I saw a little girl. She had pigtail and was crouching down picking at the ground. She wore all black. We met eyes for a moment and then she disappeared.

Now when I think about that little girl, I always tie her to you. Even then I always had a bad feeling about that little girl. My fears were confirmed when the next day you turned to me, the smile still plastered on your face, and said in a weak voice, "Poppie… I can't be with you anymore." You laughed merrily, to ease me I realize now, like it was some kind of joke. I wished you had been joking.

I later found out what you meant, but it would be to late. I had been sleeping when the scientist had told you that they had found a way for one of us to get better, but at the cost of the other. I wish I hadn't been sleeping, maybe I could have made you reconsidered what you had decided on that day. Didn't you realize how lonely I would be without you?

The final day came. I still remember it. The sky was bright. The birds sang, though I did not listen to them, and the girl was there. She sat on the stairs that had been over run by ivy many years ago. Her eyes were cloudy and distant. She met my eyes again. As I looked into those eyes I felt a pang in my chest. I could almost hear a voice saying, "Don't cry."

The scientist came and looked at you. "Rangge…" One of them said. You nodded. A young scientist, who I knew was named Kyle, walked over to you and helped you and me sit up. I didn't know at the time why he was crying. When he was aceured that we were comfortable he left, but not before he placed a bouquet in my hands filled with vibrant red flowers. You turned to me. "Poppel," you said, for once not using that nickname, "I want to give this to you. I know it's cheesy, but I feel it's symbolic. I know you were always the one wearing that mask of sorrow, always making yourself look so fragile, always making yourself deaf to my words, but I want you to listen and please talk to me. This is our song. A song for just the two of us."

I looked at you. My throat felt dry. I remember the lullaby that you always sang to me when I was the one sick. I looked at the flower in my lap. Your words almost mimicked the song perfectly. I let out a gasp as I realized what you meant. You hummed the melody. Urging me to sing, and so I began. "This world is one of ones, but not twos,  
>And so now I speak to beautiful you<br>Don't leave me so, show love like you've shown,  
>How you ever have, how you've ever known..."<p>

A grin spread on your face, and I smiled, because for once it was a true smile. I took over humming the melody and you began your part. "Though I've little left to say, my breath too faint to convey,  
>Shall my last words to you become singing this song?<br>Oh, it's nothing, never mind; don't you worry, you're too kind  
>Everything you once knew of me,<br>can be left behind."

You poked me in the arm signaling me to join in with you. "Until what time that we may meet again, that happy day;  
>When that day comes, we'll moreso return to play<br>And when, as this song was played, it screeched into disarray,  
>You could sit in a chair and finally happily stay<p>

This world is one of ones, but not twos,  
>And so now I speak to beautiful you<br>Don't leave me so, show love like you've shown,  
>How you ever have, how you've ever known...<p>

This world is one, and one it shall be,  
>And just as you say, "there's only one me"" You stopped me with a poke to my arm, continuing on your own. ""My time here is up; I can't be with you..."<br>"Goodbye, my beloved.""

""Goodbye, my beloved."" I repeated. As we finished, I broke into tears. I hugged you. You looked at me, a genuine smile on your face. "Live your life to the fullest. All right, Poppie? Live for us both. Please don't cry about this. I wouldn't have it any other way."

That day I lost you. I lost my other half. I am now a grown woman. I am married. I have a daughter, who reminds me of you. I have tried to write you many times, but have failed. So now I try again, in stupid hopes that some how it will reach you. I go over the letter that you left me. Every single line, every single day:

Poppel, my dear.  
>Thank you at short time. I hope that you're health.<br>I'm sorry.  
>I'm sorry.<p>

And so know I send you off with these words:

To my Beloved,  
>It was only for a short time, but thank you for everything.<br>Thank you.  
>Good night.<p>

_Signed,_

_Poppel Rangge_


End file.
